Working Girls-From a Gunfighter's Perspective M7 OW
by senorabutterfly
Summary: I had a couple of people in a FB group who asked for the boys' POV, so here's Chris' thoughts on the working girls... Not mine, no profit made.


Working Girls- From a Gunfighter's Perspective M7 OW

Pony moved surely toward the tent camp while his rider sat lost in contemplation, fingers slack on the reins.

Normally the tall blond rode to the 'town' with nothing more on his mind than spending a couple of pleasurable hours with Lydia or one of the other working girls. This time however, he was in an introspective mood.

Things had been fairly quiet for him and the other peacekeepers the last few days, so he'd taken the opportunity to go relax and enjoy some female companionship. Unlike Buck, Chris wasn't the type to jump into bed with one of the women in town.

Although some time had passed and the loss was getting a little easier to bear, the death of his wife and son was still too real and his emotions too raw to want to form a serious relationship. Plus, whoever killed Sarah and Adam was still out there, and he couldn't stand to lose another family. And he wasn't comfortable just bedding a 'lady' with no intentions of making a lasting commitment, even if the woman herself were willing.

It was different with the working girls, however. They didn't expect, or necessarily even want, anything more than a casual relationship. While he knew a lot of people frowned on the idea or disapproved, as long as the women themselves were willing and agreeable, he saw nothing wrong with taking advantage of their availability.

That didn't mean that he didn't believe they should be treated with respect and kindness. On the contrary, he wouldn't tolerate anyone getting rough with one of the girls if he was around. And he had never mistreated a woman in his life, and he certainly wasn't going to start just because the working girls weren't considered 'proper' ladies. He had known a lot of women that might not get actual money for their services, but expected expensive gifts and a fancy place to live, etc. from their paramours, and in his eyes that was basically no different to what these women did. And to his mind, the working girls were more honest about it.

While he wasn't as effusive and un-restrained as Buck, Chris wasn't blind to women's charms and definitely appreciated them . . . the way they looked, the smell of their perfume, the way that even callused fingers could turn to silk with a touch. He enjoyed holding them and running his hands through their hair, inhaling the floral or spicy scent they wore, and the tantalizing experience of slowly slipping their clothes off and seeing their satin skin and feeling their hands running over him in return.

He was old enough now that he felt no need to rush into things, and made it a point to have a drink with whichever woman was entertaining him, or exert himself to have a little polite conversation first. While he was sometimes a bit urgent when they got to that point, he never wanted to give the impression that he was trying to get as much time in bed as he could for his money. And he always made sure that whoever he spent his time with enjoyed the occasion as much as he did. The girls at the camp were people too, and he respected their feelings and tried to make it seem like they were with someone special, not just another paying customer.

To that end, he always stayed around a little while after he was done if he could, just holding them and letting them tell him about their day. Or if they weren't feeing talkative, listening to their heartbeat as it returned to normal while they nestled in his arms. The act often reminded him of his wife, so he sometimes turned nostalgic, pressing kisses to their forehead or gently caressing their arm and shoulder before he got up to get dressed. While he knew his danger was obvious, and he was considered intimidating by many, he was always careful never to appear threatening or angry when he was in the company of one of the girls. While it apparently appealed to some, having them scared of him wasn't his intention and did nothing for him and he had no use for a man who mistreated a woman. He'd never hit or shot one, even on the rare occasions where their vile actions deserved such response, and wasn't sure he ever could. His inclination was usually to protect them, even when some of them didn't want or appreciate his concern.

The working girls weren't like that however. They were grateful for his help and trusted him enough to come to him or tell him if someone was hitting or demeaning them. That actually meant quite a bit to him, since many 'proper' folks crossed the street to get away from him or were too scared to even speak to him. Though he had to admit he did cultivate the effect sometimes, since it kept him from being challenged so much if people were too frightened to go against him. And it kept him from having his ears talked off by others. Sometimes he just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet. And he appreciated people like the girls that understood that.

Looking up, he realized that Pony had gotten him almost to the camp already. While a part of him had been aware of his surroundings and ready to respond to danger, his mind had been drifting with his thoughts so that he hadn't realized he was so close. When a couple of the girls saw him and waved, turning to each other with excited exclamations, he put his ruminations behind him and kicked the black into a trot. The ladies were waiting and he was ready to just feel, not think.

He didn't see Lydia, so picking another one that he liked, his lips curved into a devastating smile. Motioning her toward him as he pulled to a stop, he stepped down and ground-tied the gelding. Holding out one dark-garbed arm, he gave his chosen companion a wink and escorted her toward the saloon tent to have a drink, leaning down to listen attentively as she welcomed him back to the 'town' and purring when she reached up to caress his jaw.

Yep, the time for thinking was over for a while. Now it was time to just enjoy.

By DMA


End file.
